The Inevitable Defeat of Reason
by Rondeau
Summary: Takagi and the catastrophic struggle between his overbearing mind and his unrelenting heart. -Takagi x Miyoshi-


**The Inevitable Defeat of Reason  
**Rondeau

I don't own any of the brilliance that is BAKUMAN.

A/N: So Bakuman's one of the mangas that I've been keeping up with. It's obviously really new so I was actually kind of surprised to already find a fanfiction section for it! Anyway, wrote this on a whim~. Takagi's one of my absolute FAVORITE manga characters right now (joining him on that pedestal is Natsu of Fairy Tail and Hiruma of Eyeshield 21) and I really like him with Miyoshi. I think she's good for him. :)

* * *

_the heart has reasons that reason doesn't understand_

_

* * *

_

Takagi Akito's brain was undoubtedly of the certifiable genius variety—it gave him the top test scores in his middle school without the senseless overexertion; it allowed him to come up with the difficult plot aspects and multiple character idiosyncrasies that always followed manga-verse; it made challenges, like his and Saiko's joint goal to get serialized ASAP, seem almost enjoyable. So whenever his brain pointed out something, anything specific, Takagi knew enough to pay attention.

This was the fifth time, it nagged, in _two_ hours that he caught himself thinking about her.

_Miyoshi_.

Ugh.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

After all, their first meeting had been a fluke, hadn't it? There'd been no magical, chance encounter—no eyes meeting across the room, no soft gasps, no hearts beating a mile a minute. Not a single blush.

Just a misunderstanding. ('See,' his brain would chide, 'your entire relationship began with a _mistake_.')

She'd pretty casually decided that she liked him. He'd pretty casually decided that he liked her. They went out. Casually. End of story.

They were absolutely nothing like Saiko and Azuki. Their relationship wasn't steeped with drama (with the one exception of that Iwase girl's short-lived crush and her rather emotional exit from their lives).

This wasn't supposed to be a star-crossed-lovers kind of deal.

And Takagi had been so sure back then that it would never escalate into anything even relatively close to that magnitude.

That confidence seemed so far off nowadays.

And his brain hated him for it.

He was _supposed_ to be pouring his entire being into manga. How the hell else were they supposed to beat Nizuma if he wasn't coming up with worthwhile names every few minutes? His world, his mind would snipe, was supposed to be about underdog protagonists overcoming incredible feats, about imaginative universes, about daring new circumstances.

Not pouty lips and legs in short-shorts.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

He hadn't even realized how far he'd actually fallen, until, _boom_, he was already in.

Deep.

His logic would attempt to set him straight now and again.

Really, it would say, what's so great about Miyoshi? (Yeah, his logic was kind of a bastard.)

He was Takagi Akito—undoubtedly intelligent, athletic, relatively good-looking, talented.

He was a _catch_. (His logic was also a cocky sonofabitch.)

And Miyoshi?

She tended to be a little flighty, a little air-headed sometimes. She made only decent grades, even if she applied herself. She was nowhere _near_ his level of intellect. (His head would overlook the fact that he found that type of mentality in girls haughty and kind of unattractive. It would also totally ignore how Miyoshi more than made up for it with intuition—how she knew not to disturb him when he was engrossed in his work, how she could immediately sense if he was tired and would make him coffee just the way he liked it.)

She was above average in the sports department, sure. _But in_ _what_?, his brain would rebuke. Karate? Boxing? She was a tomboy. She was brutish and violent and really un-girl-like. (Again, it wouldn't take into consideration that maybe he liked that kind of toughness in a girl, that he appreciated not having to worry about treating her like a porcelain doll. That maybe he even sort of respected the fact she could kick his ass if she wanted to.)

She was kind of cute but she wasn't really anything to brag about. She didn't have Azuki's delicate beauty or Iwase's dignified allure. In retrospect, she was also kind of cheap-looking with her too tight, too short wardrobe. (There was a serious conflict of interests here that his mind would disregard. His hormones spoke for themselves of course, but Takagi could vaguely recall a time he'd caught her with her hair down, falling in soft waves around her face, a blush on her cheeks, eyes bright with embarrassment. She'd just woken from a nap and he remembered being kind of dazed by her cuteness.)

And finally, she didn't really have any talents to speak of. Any useful ones anyway, his brain would comment. Her cooking was average at best. Her art skills were abysmal. She liked _shoujo_ _manga_ for crying out loud. What could you possibly see in her? (True, the bento's she attempted to make for them every other Wednesday could have used some work. Yes, maybe her short little 'Work Hard' cards, the ones she'd leave on his desk every so often, were horribly drawn. And ok, so she read shoujo manga. How exactly did all that extract from her quite obvious aptitude for devotion (and kissing?))

In spite of all of his logic's efforts, of course, he still found his thoughts racing back to her every so often.

They'd been going out a little over six months now (Takagi could hardly fathom how_ that _had happened) but he never could've imagined how Miyoshi had become such a significant fixture in his life.

Especially not with the way his ever-rational brain was trying to expel her every other minute.

_She's distracting you_, it would eventually chide. _You need to break up._

Again, Takagi could not even pinpoint the exact moment she'd become so important that her presence actually managed to make his thoughts wander, but after some careful, objective deliberation, he could only sigh and decide that his brain was right.

This supposedly "casual" relationship had gone far enough. He needed to detach himself from her quick, before she invaded any more space in his head. Before he fell deeper, harder.

Ok.

So they were going to break up.

That sounded like a logical thought.

(Then why the _hell_ did his throat, his chest hurt so much with the idea of letting her go?)

* * *

Finally, school was over.

He'd thought about her a grand total of 26 times that day (even when he'd been making the conscious effort not to) and the staggering number was enough to force him out of the funk he'd gotten himself in, thinking about their imminent break up.

This was for the sake of his and Saiko's dream.

This needed to happen.

This—

"Takagiii~!" A familiar voice rang out, catching his attention.

She came bounding up to him, a ridiculously chipper smile on her pink lips. "Hey you."

He looked at her with wide eyes, brow raised in question, "Miyoshi…What are you still doing here?"

As class representative (a position forced upon the student with the highest test scores, naturally) he had had after school duties. It was already two hours after everyone had left and yet…

She gave a little half smile, grabbing at his arm, "I missed you."

He responded with an incredulous look, "What?"

The girl pouted, hitting him lightly, "Jerk, I felt like we haven't been seeing much of each other lately. And…" She pursed her lips at him, hand on her hip, voice in the defensive, "_What_? Is it so bad that I wanted to walk home with you?"

"You waited out here, on a windy as hell December afternoon, for two hours, _just to walk home with me_?" He scoffed, but it lacked his usual bite.

"Yes." She rolled her eyes, "What about that is so hard to believe?"

"_Why_?"

Miyoshi smiled softly and said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Because I love you, apparently."

He averted his eyes, unable to directly face her honesty and suddenly, the thought of ever breaking up with the flighty little slip of girl seemed so very far away.

"…Yeah." He grumbled lowly, before hesitantly, awkwardly interlinking their fingers.

She gave a happy squeal and he was quite aware of how his logic, his usual levelheaded coolness was deteriorating and how the loud objections in his head were being reduced to dull little whispers.

The organ in his chest was beating so damn _fast_.

His brain was persistent--still, even now, it attempted to call to his attention that he was being incredibly, incredibly stupid. But as they walked home, hand in hand, pulse thrumming in his ears, warmth spreading all the way to his fingertips, he realized that this was far from over.

Looked like his heart wasn't giving up without a fight.

_

* * *

_

END

_

* * *

  
_


End file.
